Whill of Agora: Epic Fantasy Bundle (Books 1-4): (Whill of Agora, A Quest of Kings, A Song of Swords, A Crown of War) (Legends of Agora)

by Michael James Ploof

  “I am Whill of Agora,” he shouted.

  “The blade!” yelled a male elf. “We would lay eyes upon the blade of legend!”

  Whill unsheathed his sword and raised it high. From it blinding light poured forth and outshone the light of day.

  “I have found the blade Adromida! With it I shall vanquish the enemy, and once again bring peace to Agora!”

  The crowd erupted in cheers as he sheathed the blade of legend. Avriel wasted no time. She leapt from the ground and flew off with Whill, the cheers and shouts of the crowd following them to the outskirts of the city.

  “To where do we fly?” Whill asked over the wind.

  “I would see my brother,” Avriel replied. “You did well back there.”

  He scoffed at that. “I wasn’t prepared to be worshipped like a god. I expected elves to act less…”

  “Human?” she offered.

  “I suppose,” said Whill.

  They circled the house of healing in which Zerafin and Avriel’s bodies lay. Whill sensed overwhelming trepidation from Avriel; he guessed that she did not want to see her soulless body. He gave her time and together they circled until the dragon took a deep long breath and ascended to the balcony overlooking one of the Thousand Falls’ channels.

  From the cliffs beyond the water poured into rivers which flowed calmly through the city and surrounding land. Everywhere about the land were arched footbridges of vine and stone. Mist from the falls bathed the land with life-giving vapor. Trees grew to new heights here, unlike anything to be found within Agora. Even the native flora and fauna grew larger within the city’s borders.The house of healing was a wide (and at the moment roofless) dome; from living vines hung silk curtains, now open. Around the sick beds stood a half a dozen elves, hands locked and voices humming. The healers were dressed in brilliant white robes, and upon their heads sat what looked to be gemmed crowns that glowed softly. Their deep voices chanted in unison for the sick. As Whill and Avriel approached, they broke the circle and stepped aside. Many bowed to the two, offering their condolences.

  Whill stroked the head of Avriel’s comatose elven body which lay next to Zerafin’s tortured form. Many elves tended to them, some working to keep Avriel’s body alive, others holding Zerafin’s rotting curse from consuming his body. The Elf prince was not lucid but suffered feverish sleep and often thrashed in his throws of agony.

  An elf approached with four hand maidens in tow, by the look of her he guessed that she was the Queen of Elladrindellia. She wore long flowing robes of sunrise orange and a simple silver crown upon her head. Whill stood and looked to Avriel for guidance, she however did not see him, like the others she was watching as her mother strode into the house. She walked right up to Whill with a wide smile and took his hands in hers.

  “Whill, it is good to see you again.”

  “Queen Araveal, I am pleased to meet you, though I do not remember the first time.” Whill replied.

  “It was long ago, you were young. On behalf of all elves of Elladrindellia I welcome you to the elven lands, that which your ancestor gifted us with centuries ago,” said the Queen.

  She looked to the sword and then to her children’s sleeping forms. Whill looked to them also and cringed to see how the rot ate away at Zerafin’s skin.

  “I can help, with the sword…”

  “You are not strong enough to attempt to counter Eadon’s spell.” Queen Araveal argued.

  “Then I can lend the power of Adromida to one who can,” he begged, hating to see Zerafin suffer so.

  “Perhaps, once the spell is deciphered. It is a powerful and complex spell. Our greatest spell crafters have yet to fully understand it. Any interference now could mean the death of my son. It cannot be attempted as of yet.”

  Whill new her to be right, he could not hope to unravel Eadon's spell. He resigned himself to the hope that the spell crafters would soon figure it out. They sat in silence near to the running river with Avriel in dragon form close by.

  After a time Whill turned to the queen and was about to ask the question that had been on his mind for some time. But before he could ask she spoke.

  "You would ask why we did not keep you here as an infant, to be raised with knowledge of your lineage."

  Whill waited for the explanation. He could see the worry on the queen's face as she gazed upon her children's sleeping forms.

  "It was decided by Abram and I that you would be safer if you were kept secret. This is the first place that Eadon would think to look, and we were not sure of spies in our midst. Therefore you were taken far away, and few were privy to the knowledge of your whereabouts. But know that I have always watched over you from afar."

  Whill smiled back at her though he did not quite agree with the long ago decision. Kellallea came to mind, and her claims that the prophecy was a lie. He still did not know what to think of it.

  “When we took the gate to Drindellia, and spoke to the ancient Kellallea, she told me that the prophecy was a lie."

  "Yes I know." said the queen. "Avriel and I have spoken about it."

  Whill was surprised by her calm demeanor in the face of such a possibility. "Do you believe it?"

  She answered without hesitation. "I don't know. It would explain many things. What do you believe?"

  Whill let out a sigh. "I know that Kellallea believed it."

  She repeated the question. "What do you believe?"

  "I do not know, but my heart tells me that it is true. I am nothing but a pawn in Eadon's grand scheme, just another cog in the wheel. I know that I will never be ready to face him. He is ancient and I am young, and...I am afraid."

  "As you should be… you bear a great burden, but you need not bear it alone.”

  "Why did Eadon make war in the first place?" asked Whill.

  Araveal looked past the clouds to that faraway time so long ago. "He created the Draggard. In his time Eadon was a brilliant... there is no word in your tongue, to us it is a science word, call it life builder. He created things of beauty beyond words, flowers of such radiance and life, the sweetest fruit trees. He melded plant with plant and tree with tree. His work was a thing of renown and praise."

  "But then he began to meld animal with animal. At first it was allowed, for he bred stronger and faster horses, larger bulls and beautiful felines. Then he unveiled his most abominable creation, he crossed dragon and elf, and created a draggard queen. It is said that the first of her litter were sired by him, and she gave him seven daughters. They in turn gave birth to the draggard as we know them now."

  Whill was disgusted by the thought of the draggard being Eadon's children and grandchildren. He gained a new respect for the dark elf's insanity.

  "My husband the king sent a regime of fifty soldiers to destroy the creatures and take Eadon into custody to answer for his crimes against nature."

  Whill looked to the queen whom had quieted, she looked older that she had a moment ago.

  "And he killed them all?" Whill guessed, the queen’s nod prove him correct.

  "Yes, and then he killed the next group and another after that. By then news of the warring had reached far and wide and a movement began within Drindellia that eventually proved fatal to our people. You see Eadon appealed with a silver tongue and pleading heart to those of us that had no magic. He told them that he was a victim as they were. That he was being attacked for being different from us as they were."

  "Were they convinced?" asked Whill.

  "You have met him, what do you think?"

  Whill saw her point. She went on. "He promised them the one thing that they could not attain, he promised them power. He did something that no one had ever been able to do. He gave the non-magical, magic, as humans call it. They became his dark elves. We could not stop him then, and we may not be able to stop him now. We are less in number by far, but we have you."

  Whill shook his head and looked into her dark pools of endless watching. "No. You also have the people of Agora, and you have the mighty Dwarves
. I believe that if the prophecy is a lie, then I can at least be the one to bring you all together. Perhaps then we can defeat the dark elves, together."

  "Perhaps," she agreed.

  Aurora was out of sorts in the strange elf city. She had not seen Azzeal since they arrived and Whill had been off doing whatever it was that kings did. She did not miss the attention of the white dragon- elf Avriel.

  It was not until she finally gave in to the offer for something they called Lahakara that she felt comfortable there. What Lahakara turned out to be was what humans might call a bath house, but with many strong hands and flower scented oils. She was gently stripped of her battle marked and torn clothes and bathed in steaming water that smelled of forest and spring flowers. She was washed by the elf maidens from head to toe with soap and cloth, and then her hair was washed twice. The hot water did wonders for her aching body, it had been hell riding that dragon for days, and her arse had the bruises to show for it. She soaked for nearly an hour before being led out of the water and wrapped in soft towels. Through a stone archway and into the next room she was led. There soft music played from a flute player siting on the window sill. Beyond him through a large window was a view of the city and Thousand Falls beyond.

  She was led to the center of the room where her towels were discarded and her maidens stepped aside for a tall red haired elf woman with sharp features. She wore a folded silk robe of purple with flowing wide sleeves. In her hand she held a smooth staff of black wood set with a large fiery opal at the top. The elf women smiled at Aurora as she looked up at her. She looked over her tall and muscled form with obvious admiration.

  "Hello, I am Kreshna, if you would allow me I can mend your wounds and ease any pain you may have."

  Aurora offered the elf her hand. The knuckles had been scraped bare by draggard faces and were crusted over with scabs. Kreshna indicated to a raised silk-covered bed upon which she could lay. She lay on her back and offered up her large hand. Kreshna's hands were half the size. The elf laid them over the wounds and closed eyes and smiled. A soft blue glow arose from the contact and Aurora's hand tingled. When the hands were lifted she beheld her skin renewed. In this way Kreshna healed her many wounds. Her job done, Kreshna bowed and took her leave and was replaced by twin male elves that put their strong hands to work rubbing out every ache and kink in her large muscles. Aurora napped at she was worked on. She was beginning to like the elves a great deal.

  The queen took her leave after a time and Whill remained with the siblings. He gazed upon Avriel’s body, beautiful still but missing the life force that had possessed it. The body was a shell, Whill realized then. The body mattered not; it was but a tool to house the spirit, and the body’s animal needs and wants were just that.

  Whill laid the back of his hand upon Avriel’s cheek; it was warm. Tears came to his eyes and threatened to pour forth like the Thousand Falls. Avriel bent and gently nudged Whill’s shoulder. With his free hand he touched her dragon cheek.

  “I am sorry, Avriel; I do not know how to help. I have all the power I need, yet I am powerless.”

  Avriel mentally smiled upon him. It is no fault of your own. I have a body, one given to me by the dark one. One day he will wish he had killed me; he will wish he had killed us both.

  Whill nodded in agreement and moved to stand before her brother. Zerafin’s skin rippled and bubbled slowly. Here and there it browned and then blackened, but quickly the rot receded. The constant efforts of the healers were the only thing keeping him alive. Whill nodded to each of the dozen healers in turn and offered his thanks. One, an elf who looked no older than a child, stepped forward with a bow. “It is true, then? The One has come to us at long last?” “I am he,” Whill said confidently.

  “Then let us see the healing powers of the one who wields the blade of legend. Surely with the blade you can help your friend.”

  Whill looked into the elf child’s eyes, wisdom and age far beyond his delicate features looked back. This elf was no child, Whill realized. More likely he was a great healer of untold years.

  Whill set his jaw with determination and laid a hand upon Zerafin. He nearly jumped when Zerafin suddenly spoke. “Ah, Whill,” he said with a cough. “You have made it here alive. I can rest easy now.”

  “We found the blade, don’t you remember? With it I can—”

  “No!” Zerafin cried with an effort that visibly drained him and the healers. “No, you cannot attempt to heal me. The bond that was created by the backfire spell I used is too dangerous. Eadon will feel your presence.”

  “There must be a way!” Whill protested.

  “Go!” Zerafin stiffened with pain. “He knows…he feels you even…now…aaahhh!” He convulsed and began to shake. Whill reached for him but his hands were held fast by the elf boy’s strong hands.

  “He is being possessed…” The elf’s eyes widened as Zerafin floated many feet above the bed, thrashing and frothing at the mouth, fighting the influence of Eadon through their connection, a connection that afflicted them both as one.

  “Fight him, brother!” Avriel screamed in their minds.

  “Please! I can help!” Whill shouted as healers began pouring into the room. Zerafin spun to stand upon the bed and his hands shot out to either side, sending the elves flying into the walls of vine. His eyes rolled back to show only bloodshot whites, and a voice that was not the elf’s spoke.

  “You can help him, boy, what are you waiting for?” said Eadon through Zerafin.

  An elf flew to Zerafin’s outstretched hand and was held by the throat many feet off the ground. Zerafin’s face twisted into Eadon’s maniacal grin. “How many more must die, boy, before you embrace your destiny?”

  Knowing what was coming, Whill reached out to the air and cried, “No!” as Eadon used Zerafin to snap the elf’s neck. The body of the healer then burst into flames and disintegrated to ash. Zerafin’s face contorted in a scream of rage and he said in his own voice, “Kill me now! Quickly before he—” His voice was cut short by a scream of anguish as Eadon gained control once more. With an extended hand he lifted the weakened body of Avriel. In dragon form she roared as Eadon held her elven body by the throat.

  Three healers attacked Zerafin with a host of multicolored spells. They were easily deflected and counterattacked by the possessed elf. Eadon blasted a hole through the chest of one and tore the head from another with the flick of a wrist, the elf’s energy shield destroyed in a shower of sparks. The third elf was blasted through the wall of vine with such force that a large hole was torn in the living wall. Zerafin screamed in a deafening, booming voice, and the vines that created the house of healing withered with blackened death.

  “Which will it be, hero? Your beloved Avriel, trapped forever in the body of a beast, or the warrior prince of Drindellia?”

  “Let them go! It is me you want!” Whill screamed.

  “Kill him or she dies!”

  Whill frantically tried to think of something, anything that would help. Zerafin’s white eyes and evil grin stared at him with sick satisfaction. Rage boiled within Whill and threatened to destroy him. The sword at his side hummed with power, he had but to reach for it.

  “Decide, boy! Who shall die for you this day?” Eadon roared as flames rose up in a ring around the blackened house of healing. Whill unsheathed his blade, Adromida, with a cry of rage. Eadon’s victorious grin spread across the face of Zerafin. Whill could not stand idly by while Avriel’s elven body was destroyed. He had hidden and run from Eadon for too long. Now he held the greatest power given. The blade glowed white in his grip and the power it possessed poured into Whill, leaving him vibrating with energy. Before Whill could strike, Azzeal leapt through the flames and shot three glowing arrows at Zerafin in rapid succession. The arrows were deflected easily, and with his free hand Eadon shot writhing tendrils of black energy at the elf.

  Whill summoned a shield around Azzeal, deflecting the energy attack. Azzeal extended a hand and yelled to Whill over the tumult, “L
end me the strength!”

  Whill took the elf’s hand and through their contact sent a rush of teeming energy. The surge caused Azzeal to stiffen straight and he gritted his teeth against it. With extended hand Azzeal hit the possessed Zerafin in the chest with a beam of purest white light. Whill poured power into the elf, and likewise Azzeal into Zerafin. Avriel’s body was released and dropped to the ground. Zerafin’s head snapped back and his body began to convulse. In his rage Eadon was trying to kill Zerafin through their spell connection. Azzeal redoubled his efforts, and a surge of power passed through Whill like none he had wielded before. Zerafin was lifted high, arms and legs extending straight out as he screamed, “Be gone from my vessel!” and fell to the floor.

  In an instant it was over. Azzeal broke contact with Whill and ran to the side of his friend. Zerafin pushed him away weakly and crawled over to his sister’s limp body. He looked up to the white dragon and smiled. “Your body lives.”

  Whill slumped to the floor of the destroyed house of healing and a smile crept across his face. “We beat him,” he said to no one.

  “He was not destroyed,” said Azzeal. “I only freed Zerafin of his mental grip; with your help I destroyed the spell that bound the two.”

  “He may yet live,” said Whill. “But there is hope. He has been beaten.”

  You are cured, brother!

  Zerafin looked to his sister’s dragon form while holding the head of her elven body in his lap. The fires that had circled the house of healing had died down, and healers and other elves rushed to the scene. Whill could not help but smile to himself. He had lent his power to Azzeal and they had successfully defeated Eadon, at least for a time. His mind spun with the implications of this new method’s uses. He looked at Azzeal and caught the elf’s eyes lingering upon the blade in Whill’s hand. Azzeal met Whill’s gaze but no guilt showed upon the elf’s face. He nodded slightly and then set about helping Zerafin to his feet. Whill quickly joined to help, and together the three ferried Avriel’s body away from the smoldering house of healing.